


Baby it's cold outside

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Camping, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mycroft is oblivious and Sherlock is trying his best, POV Mycroft Holmes, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Indulgent, Smut, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 16:32:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12136542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mycroft knew this was a stupid idea the second his brother told him about it. But if he has a weakness, it takes the form of a seventeen years old, haughty and confident Sherlock, pouting his way through Mycroft’s resistances.So here he is, freezing in a tent, in a forest, in the middle of october, for anexperiment.





	Baby it's cold outside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyGlinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/gifts), [scarletmanuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/gifts).



> The most self-indulging thing I've ever written. Honestly feels like crack to me haha. Hope you enjoy!

Mycroft knew this was a stupid idea the second his brother told him about it. But if he has a weakness, it takes the form of a seventeen years old, haughty and confident Sherlock, pouting his way through Mycroft’s resistances.

So here he is, freezing in a tent, in a forest, in the middle of october, for an _experiment_. He’s trying his best to keep warm with all the blankets they took with them. Sherlock is still rummaging in the back of the car for God knows what could be useful to test the resistance of-. Damn that.

Mycroft usually cares when something, anything involves his baby brother, but he finds it difficult to be implicated in plants or insects or whatever had caught Sherlock’s interest when he’s sure he’s going to lose a few toes, and possibly his life.

But he’s there, isn’t he. Even if he knew he was going to regret it, and he knows _oh too well_ why he came. He can’t refuse anything to his brother, but not only because of their shared blood.

And it’s going to be so difficult to sleep right next to the source of his deepest desires, but he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Even if it’s only as the annoying older brother who’s only there because he can drive, he will stay at Sherlock’s side.

 

Sherlock finally seems to be done with was he was doing and enters the tent. His whole body is shaking and his lips are a deep purple. He bends down to take his shoes off and Mycroft’s gaze is drawn to his ass despite his will not to ogle him that obviously. Sherlock meets his stare and he prays for his cheeks not to blush.

Wordlessly, he lifts the pile of blankets he’s hiding below in a silent invitation. His brother doesn’t hesitate and hurries to sit in the space between Mycroft’s legs, facing him, entwining their limbs and pressing his nose into his throat.  Mycroft yelps when Sherlock’s cold skin touches his but tightens the blanket around them, ignoring the warmth growing inside him when Sherlock wraps his arms around his waist.

They’re used to touch, a lot, too much, but Mycroft has been battling against his reactions for years now. He knows it’s wrong to crave the touch of his little brother, but _Sherlock_. Sherlock is the prettiest, most clever, most amazing person he knows. He doesn’t stand a chance against him.

 

Sherlock mumbles something that he doesn’t quite catch, so he tries to withdraw a bit to hear better, earning protests from his little brother that follows his movement.

 

“Can we sleep like this? I’m cold.” Sherlock says again, louder. The words cause goosebumps to raise on his skin, not only because he could feel them against his pulse point, and because the teenager’s perfect lips grazed his skin, but because of the promise of sleeping with his brother in his arms.

 

He turns off the light of his phone and moves them around so they can lay on the ground. Sherlock has now his face against Mycroft’s chest, and as he snuggles against him, the elder Holmes wonders if Sherlock knows how it makes him feel. He hopes he can’t hear his pulse going crazy.

 

After a few minutes of silence, the temperature is actually blissfully bearable again and Mycroft thinks he’s safe. Of course, just when he relaxes again, Sherlock starts to squirm but doesn’t make any move to actually get out of his brother’s embrace. He just wiggles his hips and...

 

“Lock, what are you doing?”

“I don’t like sleeping with my clothes on and you’re here to keep me warm. So I’m undressing.”

Mycroft gulps and wills his cock to behave, because he can feel all his blood rush south and. it’s. not. going. to. happen. He won’t have a boner in front of his younger brother.

 

Sherlock sits up and takes his shirt and trousers off before laying back down, only in his pants. His whole body is flush against Mycroft. He can feel the warmth radiates from his brother, and wonders if the younger is trying to merge into him. He feels overheated.

 

Overheated. This is getting ridiculous.

 

This time, Mycroft doesn’t have time to relax; Sherlock’s hand slides slowly along his torso and stomach, settling centimeters away from his crotch. He tenses, ready to ask what the hell his brother is playing at, but Sherlock moves again and suddenly there’s a big, warm hand on his clothed cock. He didn’t even reckon getting hard but now it feels like he’s going to die from the sheer want he feels.

 

Sherlock tightens his grip and he snaps out of his trance, scrambling onto his knees, dizzy from the want and the confusion and the sudden change of position.

 

“Stop this game this instant.” He tries to speak as cold and firmly as he can, but it comes out weak and wobbly. Sherlock is making him crazy, he loses everything he tries to be when he’s with him and he can’t think about what’s happening, and he should probably panic because it seems the teenager knows the effect he had on him and this can’t be good, oh no.

 

Sherlock _smiles_.

 

And moves to kiss him.

 

Mycroft stops him before their lips touch, and he tries to read him, deduce something, but it doesn’t make sense. Sherlock’s pulse is crazy elevated, he can see that he licks his lips repeatedly in the semi-darkness, he’s breathing quickly… Nervous and horny. What-

 

“My. I’m trying to make you understand that I want you to fuck me. And you call yourself the clever one?” Sherlock jokes, but the elder feels that he’s insecure, and suddenly, it makes sense. They share a look, speaking with their eyes like they always do and without warning they’re kissing. Mycroft touches his brother’s body everywhere he can reach, he needs him closer and he can’t believe he’s allowed to do that.

 

“Lock, stop, stop, what do you want?” He asks, after switching the light on again, because he needs to make sure, there won’t be able to go back after that.

“You, you, please, My, I’ve wanted it for so long, I hoped we could have more, please, there’s a bottle of lube hidden in the corner of the tent…”

 

Mycroft doesn’t hesitate anymore. He knows his brother is inexperienced and they should probably not rush this, but there are things that are better when you don’t think too much about them and this is one. Age difference, incest, morals… They really, really don’t care.

 

He kisses him again, harder, wanting to make Sherlock understand everything he can’t say yet.

 

Somehow, they end up both naked and breathless, and Mycroft needs more than just careful touches and kisses. He reaches for the lube without looking away from his baby brother and rummages around until his fingers lock around the small bottle.

He pushes him down onto his back and flips open the cap on the lube bottle that Sherlock has _conveniently_ taken with. He still can’t believe Sherlock planned this.

 

“Lock, if you need to stop,” Mycroft manages to say, “just say something. We don’t have to do this.”

“Stop talking so much, My.” Sherlock is beautiful, splayed out like this, legs spread, knees up, hands tangled in the blanket, cock hard and leaking precum on his stomach. He still manages to look petulant, even with blown pupils and an erratic breath.

Mycroft takes a bit of lube in his hand before taking his brother’s cock and beginning to pump slowly, making the teenager whimper and twitch. Sherlock is so responsive, Mycroft is sure he could make him scream if he wanted to tease him. But no is not the time. He carefully lets his other hand go down his brother’s body, stopping briefly around his throat, caressing his chest, grazing a nipple, scratching his stomach softly with his nails… He can feel the goosebumps rise as he follows the curve of Sherlock’s inner thigh and the muscles tense when he brushes against his ass.

“Have you already…”

Sherlock flushes dark red.

“I’ve done it before- I’ve done it a lot.” Mycroft swallows down a moan. He pictures oh too well his brother, on his knees, working himself open with his fingers. He lubes two fingers up and rests his other hand on Sherlock’s balls.

Mycroft starts with one finger and the heat is unbelievable. He can’t believe he’s fingering his brother. He pushes in slow and pulls out at the same speed, relishing every moan he manages to drag out of Sherlock’s pretty mouth. Sherlock is indeed used to the sensation as he asks after not even a minute:

“More.”

He complies and leans in, slinging his brother’s knees over his shoulders to take his cock into his mouth, because he has been daydreaming about that for years and he won’t miss this chance. He swallows down and brushes against his brother’s prostate at the same time, which makes Sherlock cry out, his voice uncharacteristically high-pitched.

“Please, I need you, please-” his brother begs, looking wrecked already. Mycroft lets his cock slide out his mouth and goes up to kiss him, letting him taste his precum.

The elder Holmes takes his fingers up and lubes his cock with trembling hands, the need to be inside Sherlock being so strong it’s painful.

He holds Sherlock by the waist pushes in, careful not to hurt his brother, looking at his reactions closely. Sherlock seems to be in a daze, his hands on Mycroft’s back, urging him to take him deeper, and soon Mycroft is buried to the tilt. They both take a deep breath, and the teenager nods slightly.

He starts to rock back and forth, slowly at first and then quicker and quicker.

Broken moans and gasps pass Sherlock’s lips as he holds onto Mycroft, his feet digging almost painfully into the older’s back. Mycroft kisses and kisses him, drinking in every sound and breath his little brother makes.

Sherlock tenses and Mycroft knows he’s going to come, so he goes harder, wanting to see him come untouched, and he does. Sherlock tightens impossibly more around him and he’s coming too.

They lay there for a while, covered in sweat and come, trying to catch their breath and smiling at each other. Mycroft feels stupid with happiness.

“You don't actually have an experiment, do you?" he asks, already knowing the answer. 

“I don’t,” Sherlock answers, tone dead serious.

They look at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.

  
  
  



End file.
